


Safety

by crossingwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-09 06:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: Catelyn watches her son spar.





	Safety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dragonifyoudare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/gifts).



> A very happy Purim to dragonifyoudare! 
> 
> I took your prompt—"Catelyn , as long as she's portrayed as neither a saint or a devil"—and did my best with it! I hope you like this!

 

Robb and the bastard are sparring in the yard below and Catelyn watches them closely.

Her son is the larger of the two, and taller than the bastard.  He is broader of chest and is growing into his manhood well. 

_ Robb takes to Ned like that,  _ Catelyn thinks as she watches the two of them.  Ned is broad and strong, just like Robb.  _ His coloring is not the same, but he still takes after his father.   _ In the days of Robert’s Rebellion, when she had sat with her babe in her arms, wondering if death awaited them all, she had never once felt sad that her son shared her eyes.  It wasn’t until she’d seen the bastard that she’d wished…

Robb leaps back, dodging a particularly quick cut, lunges forward, and loses his balance.  Robb may have Ned’s build, may be taller and broader of the two, but Jon Snow is lean and quick.  She watches her son fall to a knee, and Jon Snow lets out a hoot of triumph as he places the flat of his practice sword on Robb’s shoulder, right by his neck.  Though she is watching from above, she can still see the way his lips form the word, “Yield.”

Robb grins up at him and stands.  His lips move in some sort of conversation, perhaps a promise that next time he will be the victor, or a simple claim that Jon Snow had gotten lucky that time.  He smiles as he tosses his own wooden blade between his hands as though it were a toy. It is a toy. Ser Rodrik won’t let them use live steel just yet.  _ If it were steel, would he have fought harder?  Would you have fought as though your life depended on it?  Or would you have trusted him not to harm you? _

Catelyn looks down at the ledger on the desk before her.  She should be making sure the stores are in order for King Robert’s visit.  She should be advising Poole what will be needed from White Harbor so that he can see it brought up the White Knife.

But it is hard to focus on that when she knows the boys are in the yard, and her eyes drift to the window once again.  

They are crossing the yard together now, talking happily.  They place their swords in the barrel with the other wooden training weapons.  Then, they make their way back towards the keep. Robb has a positive spring in his step, as though he could know no greater joy than losing to the bastard.   _ Let them be brothers, Cat,  _ Ned had told her when he’d brought the babe home.   _ Let them grow to love one another as if he too were a child of your flesh.  Let him love our other children as well.  _

_ Where did his litheness come from?  _ she wonders as she watches Robb and Jon enter the main keep and disappear from sight.   _ Was his mother slender?  The grandfather of her blood?   _ Rickard Stark had been broad like Brandon.  Ned was shorter than his brother, but their builds matched, that much was true.  But Jon Snow was not the same.  _ Will Bran be like Ned?  And Rickon? Ned’s build, but none of his coloring?   _ The coloring he gave to Jon Snow—and Arya.  At least one of her children had Ned’s coloring.   And thrice his wildness—something that the bastard only ever encouraged.   _ And for that she loves him,  _ she thinks.  Gods only knew that Arya seemed to favor Ned’s bastard best of all her brothers.  Perhaps because they shared a look. 

It was something that made Ned happy, though he did his best not to show her that happiness.   _ Let them grow to love one another,  _ her husband had pleaded with her when she’d been too young to know how to tell him how much it hurt her—that Ned Stark was bringing a bastard into her house.  That he would make her live alongside her shame until the day that she died, or until Jon Snow left Winterfell. 

She’d heard too many tales when she was a girl of bastards who would try to claim their father’s seat.  She does not even know how old Jon Snow is—is he older than Robb, or younger? Ned doesn’t celebrate a nameday for the boy, merely the day that Jon was first brought to his arms, but that could have been long after he’d been born.  If he  _ is _ older than Robb, will the love he bears Robb and Arya and all the rest be enough to make him feel as though Winterfell isn’t his right?  

_ And what if his heart is a bastard’s black and he kills them for their claim?   _ He would not be the first bastard to do so.  Everyone knows that bastards cannot be trusted, that they are born of lust and sin, and for that can never be sated and should never be trusted.

That is when the door opens behind her and Robb comes in.

“Mother?” he asks her. She gives him a smile, and he continues, “I wanted to go riding over the moors.  I don’t need to bring an escort with me, do I? Surely I’m old enough to go without.”

“You’re not yet a man, Robb.  I would feel better if you had company.  What if your horse hurts itself?”

“I won’t be alone,” he says carefully.   _ I will be with Jon,  _ he does not say.   _ Jon will keep me safe.  Please trust him, mother.  He is my brother. _

Jon had bested Robb sparring.  He’s better ahorse than her boy, too—she knows that as well.  And he may also be older. She takes a deep breath and looks back out of the window.  

_ Let them be brothers,  _ her husband had told her.

_ Mother above, if I drive a wedge between them I may be damning him far worse. _

“So long as you are back by dinner,” she says.

“Thank you mother,” Robb grins happily and he’s out the door.

“And make sure you’re wearing your cloak!  The summer snows are getting thicker!” she calls after him.  


End file.
